Silver Sporks & Nifflers
by WeatherWatch
Summary: How Neville learned to hold his liquor, Seamus performed the Spice Girls, Harry forgot his name, Ron lost a game of chess, and Dean gained somewhat crooked pseudo-employment.


**pSilver Sporks & Nifflers**

**Also known as:**

**How Neville learned to hold his liquor, Seamus performed the Spice Girls, Harry forgot his name, Ron lost a game of chess, and Dean gained somewhat crooked pseudo-employment,**

**Or**

**Dorm-mates to Drinking-buddies.**

**Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it isn't mine - or great minds think alike; whichever you like.**

"You know, Harry, there were times when I thought we'd never be able to do normal things like have a drink on a Friday night." The tall, red haired boy stated casually to the Saviour of the Wizarding World, who trailed slightly behind him as the pair entered the Leaky Cauldron (it was the fore-most drinking establishment in London these days, with their ex-school mate Hannah Abbott in charge).

Inside, the place was bustling with activity; the early evening brought many families, although being a Friday night, there were considerably less than usual weekdays.

The regulars said hello, or tipped their heads in acknowledgement at the two Order of Merlin, First Class, recipients, while the non-regular patrons tended to gawk and point, as if in a zoo where something terribly exciting and dangerous was being kept.

Harry smiled politely at them, as Ron practiced his ventriloquist act and grumbled under his breath and through a somewhat tight smile as they eased their way to the back of the room where a lone figure sat, nursing a glass of Firewhiskey (on the rocks, Harry observed).

"Nev."

The two young men greeted their dorm-mate of seven years (six, if they were being exact) with strong handshakes and wide grins, plopping themselves down into the booth in a relaxed manner.

"How are you both?" Neville asked congenially.

"Fine, fine." Harry answered. "Auror training is exhausting, naturally, but things are going well, otherwise."

Neville nodded in understanding.

"Teaching isn't much better really."

He smiled as his two friends' eyes fixed their attention on his person.

"You got it?" Harry queried, sounding a little awed and more than a little pleased for his old friend. "You got the Herbology job?"

Neville inclined his head once, smiling at them as he replied smugly.

"Indeed, you are looking at the next Hogwarts Herbology Professor."

"Congratulations!" Harry and Ron told him, almost in unison, as they clapped him on the back.

"Anyway, enough about work, you two need drinks." He stated as he flagged a waitress to take their orders; a rum concoction for Ron and a Firewhiskey for Harry. The young woman winked saucily at Ron (who immediately blushed - a deep red that reached the tips of his ears).

Harry sniggered when the dark haired girl sauntered away, hips swaying suggestively, and Ron scowled at him.

"Sod off, Harry."

"What's Harry done now?" A woman's voice asked, causing the boys to turn, seeing the round-faced, pretty blonde in charge of the pub – Hannah. She was carrying their drinks, a half apron tied around her waist, and her demeanour was kindly, as it always had been.

Depositing the beverages before them, she sidled over to Neville and her fingers grazed his slightly as she took his empty glass, causing his cheeks to take on a slightly pink tinge.

"I'll see you later, I suppose."

She smiled at them (although it was mostly directed at Neville, who was gazing at her with his own smile of goofy adoration).

"Of course. Later, Hannah." Harry interjected on his mate's behalf; Neville was never going to form a coherent answer - at least, not any time in the near future.

When she'd gone, and Neville had been allowed to stare at the path she had carved through the other patrons for several moments, Harry cleared his throat and smirked at the visible flinch as Neville returned to reality.

"Good choice, Nev."

Neville's pink tinge turned into a full flush of red, and he coughed embarrassedly.

"Erm…Yes. Yes, she is. Quite." He squeaked, taking a gulp of Harry's conveniently located Firewhiskey that sat just to the right of his left hand.

"Oi!" Harry cried, pulling it from Neville's grasp, spilling some of it onto the table. "Get your own drink."

Ron rolled his eyes, and took a moment to look around the crowded pub. When his gaze passed the entrance, he sat up straighter.

"Ah, finally - there's Seamus and Dean."

Standing, Ron's six foot-something frame tended to garner attention, and it didn't fail to catch the Irishman and West Ham supporter's eyes. With a small wave, the final two Gryffindor dorm-mates made their way over to the booth.

"How're things, boys?" Ron asked amiably, shaking their hands and then sliding further up the seat to make some room.

"Couldn't be better, to be honest." Seamus responded happily, leaning in conspiratorially. "'Brie finally agreed to give me a chance."

"Brie?" Neville asked, unsure of who this unfortunate girl named after cheese was.

"Gabrielle Delacour. Fleur's younger sister." Dean supplied with a smirk. "_Shay-moose,_ here, has been trying unsuccessfully for years to get the French bird to agree to even one date."

The group snickered, causing Seamus to scowl at them.

"_Shay-moose_." Ron echoed, laughing outright.

"Sod off, Weasley." Seamus grumbled, looking around to scout for a waitress. "Where are our drinks?"

Two and a half hours later (or, according to Seamus, fourteen Firewhiskeys, a Gillywater, Rumpunch and three lemon lime Vodkas later) the five young men were considerably tipsy, if not rip-roaring drunk.

Surprisingly, Neville, despite keeping up with the others, had kept a remarkable amount of dignity and balance, and was currently the only one able to order drinks coherently without forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. Dean was coming in second, but had fallen behind with his last tequila.

The Leaky was still crowded, but now had lost the families, giving way to youth and other regulars of the London nightlife looking for a good time.

In fact, Harry was certain that he had seen a karaoke machine being set up in the corner. Good time, Merlin's pants.

He stumbled to his feet, tripping over Ron and half sitting on Dean as he clamoured over them to the end of the table.

"Karaoke." He crowed excitedly. "I love karaoke!"

Both Neville and Ron looked a little lost, being purebloods, but Dean and Seamus' eyes lit up with drunken energy and more exuberance than they would normally have had for the humiliating sport.

From where they sat, Harry could be seen conversing with the host in a tipsy manner, begging for a particular song to be played. Whilst unable to hear the conversation, the gestures and facial expressions were enough to get the gist of what was happening.

The man's voice suddenly drifted over all the other pub noise.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Karaoke Night is about to begin!" He announced. "I'm Roland Torvill, your host for the evening. If you want to have a bit of a sing, leave a song with me and wait for your name to be called. First up we have a young lad by the name of Parry Hotter (at least, that's what he told me – but he sure looks a lot like Harry Potter, to me)!"

The crowd clapped enthusiastically at the name of their saviour, despite his apparent inability to remember his name in his drunken stupor, and only Ron groaned (having heard Harry sing many times over the years – something he didn't particularly enjoy, despite not knowing the majority of the mainly muggle songs).

A large white film appeared to Harry's left with the song title written on it in large letters.

Ron's groan increased ten-fold as he read it.

_American Pie – Don McLean_.

Merlin help them.

The music started and Harry's drunken vocals followed the lyrics as they lit up at the appropriate time. It was a little shaky at first, but he continued on and slowly got into the rhythm of things. Namely, the chorus began, and Harry got his groove on right proper, shaking his hips and being generally uncoordinated as he danced, spurred on by the cat-calls and cheering of the gleefully watching crowd.

"So bye-bye, Miss American Pie. Drove my chevy to the levee but the levee was dry." Harry sang enthusiastically, having no idea what a levee was. "And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye. Singin' this'll be the day that I die!"

People were joining in, and Ron tried to block out his mate's dreadful singing voice by downing some more Firewhiskey. It didn't work.

Eight minutes later, the song ended and Harry bowed flamboyantly before rejoining his mates amidst cheers, laughter and plenty of jibes about what a good thing it was that he hadn't had to sing in the final battle.

They didn't take much notice of the other singers, but eventually Seamus declared that he would take part in the karaoke. However, he warned them, he could only ever recall certain songs and their tunes. And besides, the song was 'Brie's favourite.

They shrugged (indifferent to his song choice) and urged him over to the performance area and the waiting host where the pair partook in a muffled discussion punctuated by a small amount of sniggering on the latter's part before the wavy haired man called out over the noise:

"Next up, kids, is Mr Finnegan, singing 'Wannabe'."

Harry and Dean spluttered into the respective glasses, and a number of the women in the establishment looked highly amused as Seamus took up his position, microphone in hand.

It helped, no doubt, that the Irishman was stupendously drunk, because the muggle girl band the 'Spice Girls' was rather emasculating and not the kind of thing that men usually enjoyed advertising an interest in – especially at busy drinking establishments on a Friday night.

"Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want…" Seamus began to sing the tune. "I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really, really, really, wanna zig-a-zig ah."

A large part of the entertainment value in Seamus' performance came from his determinedness to be realistic, thus doing the dance moves along with singing. Being drunk wasn't helping his attempts and he almost fell over twice, much to his friends' glee.

"If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends," he pointed to the other ex-Gryffindors. "Make it last forever friendship never ends. If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give. Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is."

The crooning voice of the Irishman was getting almost as much attention as Harry had, and a number of ladies were looking suggestively at him as he sang the final lyrics.

"Slam your body down and wind it all around. Slam your body down and zig-a-zig ahhhh! If you wanna be my lover!" Seamus exclaimed, posing in the disco stance as he concluded his energetic performance, hearing only the riotous cheers of the other inebriated patrons.

It was bordering on midnight when the five rowdy men finally exited the Leaky in a tangle of stumbling bodies and uncoordinated limbs, laughing all the while as they aimlessly wandered through Muggle London.

Seamus was leaning heavily on Neville, who was still, astoundingly, faring the best out of the group. Clearly, he had learned – somewhere between killing Nagini with Gryffindor's sword and graduating from Hogwarts – how to hold his liquor.

The other three were lagging a little way behind, singing 'Swing Low' horribly off key and at a level rather indecent for the relative quiet of the area.

Neville hiccoughed, and tried to shush them with a finger over his lips, snickering. Seamus giggled girlishly.

"Guys, guys." Harry said to them, slurring a little. "Let's go to a proper muggle club."

His suggestion was met with enthusiastic nods of agreement, and was followed by their staggering several blocks to a club called Snare the Devil. It was underground, classy and popular.

They Confunded the security guard (it was a rather talented bit of magic considering how inebriated they were) and entered, much to the dismay of other waiting patrons who had been standing outside for at least three quarters of an hour.

Ron guffawed at the name of the place and whispered loudly to Harry, "Snare the Devil – Devil's Snare…har har har!"

Having managed to gain themselves a table, the boys proceeded to play a drinking game that included shots - many, many shots. The rules were hazy, and in minutes, abandoned completely as the friendly, bald barman continued bringing drinks to the table.

Dean caught the eye of a stunning blonde and wandered over to the bar to initiate conversation while the others continued their drinking.

"Dean Thomas." He introduced himself. "Can I get you a drink?"

She smiled at him, and nodded.

"Midori and lemonade would be nice."

When the bartender handed over the drink she immediately took a sip.

"I'm Tiffany."

They spoke for a long while, eventually entering hobby territory, where Dean explained his dream of being an artist in a wistful voice. She raised an eyebrow.

"Do you do nude portraits?" She asked casually, throwing the dark skinned boy for a moment as he swallowed thickly.

"Erm. Not for a long time." He answered truthfully, blushing as he remembered just who he had drawn back in school.

He had never rightly figured out why she'd wanted the picture in the first place – she'd said it wasn't for her boyfriend - and he had been completely taken aback when the Slytherin witch had come to him with the proposal that he draw her nude.

He recalled that she never said naked, or starkers, it was always 'nude', as if the phrasing made it less crude and more artistic.

Yes, he had drawn Pansy Parkinson in his sixth year, completely nude, in the Room of Requirement.

Speaking as an artist, it was very tasteful and a wonderful impression of the witch before him.

Speaking as a sixteen year old male, he'd found it rather uncomfortable and hadn't been able to walk past her without blushing for nearly a month, wondering why he'd agreed to do the picture in the first place.

"Would you draw me?" Tiffany enquired, eyebrow quirked, a smile threatening to appear on her face.

"If you, erm, if you wanted me to…" Dean responded swallowing as his mind started to picture the lovely woman before him sans her already skimpy red dress.

"Oi, Thomas!" Ron yelled over the music, pulling Dean from his distracting thoughts.

"Your friend wants you." Tiffany smirked and stood to drag Dean over to where the Gryffindors sat, empty glasses covering the table, introducing herself to the handsome man's equally attractive mates.

Harry groaned audibly and stretched his legs, recoiling quickly when his toe poked something soft and fleshy that protested at the touch. Feeling around for his glasses, he slid them onto his nose and blinked to clear his vision.

He was in Grimmauld Place, he noticed, seeing the dreary curtains and ancient furniture. However, judging from the snores – and the absolute destruction of the room - he wasn't alone.

The fleshy lump he had kicked earlier appeared to be Ron, who was sprawled upside down across the end of the lounge in an ungainly manner, snoring softly. Looking around with a visible wince as his head protested the movement, he spotted Seamus with his legs over the arm of the plushest armchair, cuddling a decorative cushion, and then Neville, propped up next to him, holding one of the Irishman's legs. That left Dean.

Any further pondering was cut short as a large black furry blur collided with Harry's face and blocked out his vision.

"AAARGCCCCCCCK." Harry yelled in shock, pulling the thing from his face as it latched onto his glasses, a wet tongue raking over his cheek.

His cry of surprise was echoed by the other three inhabitants of the room who shot up, their sleep shattered. Ron flailed, and fell off the lounge, as Neville was kicked in the face by Seamus who clutched desperately to his cushion.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron swore, rubbing his shoulder. "What's goi-"

The red head paused as his bleary eyes fell upon the ball of fuzz in Harry's arms, held as far from his lithe body as possible.

"Is that what I think it is?" He asked, perplexed.

"If you think it's a Niffler, yeah. You're spot on." Harry replied with a grimace. "Where the hell did it come from is what I want to know."

The magical animal let out some excited whimpers and wriggled in Harry's grasp, trying to reach the glasses that had fallen from its mouth earlier onto Harry's lap.

Flopping onto his back heavily, Ron moaned.

"Can we make it darker in here or something?" He asked, covering his eyes with an arm. "It's bloody bright."

"Stop talking so loudly!" Seamus interjected, throwing his pillow at Ron's head. The other boy caught it, and buried his head in it, using it to block out the imposing light of day.

"Eurgh, I need the loo." Neville mumbled, and staggered to his feet, clutching at the walls and furniture as he made his way to the bathroom.

"Shotgun the downstairs!" Seamus called, bolting past him, looking a little green. Moments later the distinct sound of throwing up filled the downstairs floor.

"I hope he made it to the bathroom." Harry stated with a grimace. "I wonder if Hermione left any Sober-Up Potion last time she was here."

Raising himself to a standing position, Harry used wandless magic to Accio his wand. It flew into his hand from inside a vase of flowers, much to Harry's perplexity.

Wiping the water from its exterior, Harry used the same spell to search the house for Sober-Up Potion. Thankfully, a large vial flew into the room, and Harry conjured a glass for Ron and himself, pouring the vile liquid into each one before sculling it.

"It never gets any better, that potion." Ron agreed when he saw the disgusted face Harry made.

"Nah. Don't s'pose it ever will either." Harry returned. "I'm going to go have a shower, get changed."

It probably would have been beneficial for Harry to have entered his room and gathered his clothes before showering and wandering into his room wearing only a towel. Even then it had only been because he was cold. His hand was running through his wet hair, and he was holding the fluffy towel around his waist. Just as he would have on any other day, Harry entered his room, wand out and flicked it casually, sending his clothes flying towards him.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

The scream had started before his attire even reached him.

Well, he'd found Dean. And Dean's one night stand, too, apparently.

The woman- a muggle, judging from her reaction – was sitting up, the blanket wrapped tightly around her body, her eyes enormous in fearful confusion.

"What the hell was that?!" She asked in a high-pitched voice as Dean groggily came to his senses.

"Wha's goin'on?"

"Erm, I think you might want to go have a shower, take some Sober-Up and then come back when you're awake and I've explained." Harry said quietly, pink in the cheeks at his state of undress before the woman. Dean nodded, understanding when Harry raised his wand indicatively.

"Right you are." He said, feeling guilty and awful when Tiffany shied away from him. He stood and left his mate to it; six (full) years in a dormitory together had banished any shyness in regard to naked male bodies.

When it was just Harry and Tiffany, the Saviour cleared his throat.

"Erm, could you turn around while I put some clothes on?" He asked her embarrassedly. She nodded stiffly before turning away from him and closing her eyes, her breathing still quite erratic at her shock.

When he was dressed, Harry dried his hair quickly and told Tiffany to turn around, which she did slowly.

"Are going to explain how you did that?" She asked shakily.

"Actually, I was going to let you get dressed first…" Harry replied. "I'll wait outside. Call me when you're clothed."

It took only a minute or so, she merely threw on her dress, and when she called him back he had barely thought about how to explain magic to her.

"So, Tiffany…" He started, standing with his back against the door, giving her some space as she sat on the bed. "This is going to be hard to believe, but you should know. Please, wait until I've finished explaining before you make up your mind – or run screaming into the distance."

She eyed Harry warily as he began to speak.

"What you saw me do earlier was magic." He explained, seeing her eyebrows shoot towards her hairline. "There is a wizarding population that is kept hidden from muggles – people, like you, who cannot do magic. The five of us are wizards.

"We attended a school in the Scottish highlands, called Hogwarts, and graduated last year. We were out on the town last night, originally in Wizarding London, but later in muggle London." Harry paused awkwardly. "We were rather intoxicated, and I don't really remember anything else that happened, but that's beside the point. I'm talking about magic." He reminded himself.

"Do you mind if I show you some magic?" He asked politely, trying not to scare her anymore. She nodded once.

Using his wand, Harry transfigured the chair in the corner into a large vase with flowers in it. Tiffany gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

"Oh my god." She said, voice muffled by her hands.

"This is too weird."

Harry smiled sympathetically.

"If it makes you feel better, both Dean and I only found out when we were eleven." He said. "Ron and Neville are what magical people call 'purebloods' – both parents are magical – while Seamus' mum is a witch, married to a muggle."

"So, there's this whole other world out there?" She murmured, somewhat awed, a little bit dubious and a tiny bit frightened.

Harry nodded.

"In fact, the wizarding community has a ministry – the Ministry of Magic – that works with the Prime Minister to ensure the separation between the worlds."

A slight knock indicated that Dean was back and the door opened to reveal the tall man. Tiffany looked down, smiling to herself. Apparently, wizard or no, she was attracted to Dean Thomas.

It probably didn't help that he wasn't wearing a shirt. And was the definition of 'abs of steel'.

Harry answered before the question was even out.

"Third drawer."

Dean fished out a clean blue shirt and slung it over his head before sitting next to Tiffany.

"Harry's explained it then?" He asked her, taking her hand in his. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you last night, but it's not something we normally bring out in the muggle world."

"Yes, well. We weren't speaking very much for most of last night anyway." She responded truthfully. Harry snorted at the meaning behind this, covering it with a cough when the other two glanced at him.

Looking away, Harry saw a pile of papers in the corner of the room.

"What're they?"

He started walking towards them but was intercepted by Dean, who forcefully removed him from the bedroom with a tight grin.

"Erm. Thanks for the use of your room. If you'll give us a minute, Harry. Thanks."

He shut the door firmly.

Dean walked over to where Tiffany was shuffling the papers into a neat pile.

"At least he didn't see the pictures." He murmured, though part of him wanted to show off the spectacular portrait drawings, the larger part was feeling a tad possessive and would have had to Obliviate Harry if he seen even an ankle of the naked Tiffany – drawing or not.

Suddenly, said woman stopped sorting the images, and looked up at him, thoughtful and curious.

"Why do I have a vague memory of a fluffy, black dog?"

Downstairs, the others were poking at breakfast half heartedly.

"So, who remembers anything from after meeting Tiffany?" Ron asked.

"Who, incidentally, is upstairs with Dean." Harry inserted.

Neville shook his head.

"I have nothing." Seamus told them, nursing a black coffee as his head rested against the table.

"No-one remembers buying, stealing or finding a Niffler?" Harry questioned them, ignoring the twitch of Neville's lip as he tried not to laugh at the absurd question.

Said Niffler was currently immobilised, sitting in the far corner, and all the room's occupants turned to look at it.

"Nope."

"No."

"Not a clue."

"Strange." Harry commented, just as Dean arrived at the doorway, Tiffany trailing behind him shyly.

"Boys, I don't know if you recall meeting Tiffany." Dean introduced the blonde who gave a small wave. "That's Seamus, Neville, and Ron." She smiled at each one of them, vaguely remembering the previous night's encounter.

"Ooh, my dog!" She cried suddenly, spotting the black fur out of the corner of her eye and dropping to her knees to pat the Niffler's furry head. Harry subtly released the spell and the animal jumped at her, licking and snuffling happily.

"_Your_…?" Seamus spluttered, choosing not to correct her description. "Do you know where it came from? Because we have no idea."

Unfortunately, at that moment, Dean's watch caught the light, and the Niffler leapt at his arm, trying to gnaw it off his arm. With a yelp (echoed reactively by Tiffany), Dean pushed it off him and Ron stunned the little ball of fuzz, which the girl then picked up and cuddled.

"I'm calling him Romeo." She declared to the crowd in the kitchen before taking a seat and looking around properly, noticing all the wands. "Erm…so I know you're all wizards; is it okay for me to be here?"

"Of course." Harry answered. "This is my house, after all."

"Oh, wow. So you don't live with your parents?" She noted. Harry paused for a moment, fully realising just how muggle Tiffany was – she didn't know him. He was just an ordinary man.

The others glanced at him, but he just smiled.

"No."

"Do you all live together?" She asked then.

"Nah. Just Ron and I. Sometimes our friend Hermione." Harry informed her, then, having a sudden hit of inspiration, said:

"She's away at the moment, on business. You can stay in her room if you want, borrow some clothes."

Tiffany beamed.

"Thanks - I'm too intrigued to leave just yet, and my hangover is still kicking around...excuse me while I freshen up, will you, boys."

With that, the blonde stood and sashayed out of the room, Romeo in hand and Dean following to show her Hermione's regular room and the bathroom.

Seamus and Neville looked a little dazed and Ron shook his head, whistling lowly.

"Wow. Go Dean."

Laughter punctured the midmorning as the boys decided to throw some breakfast together; a good old-fashioned fry-up with a dozen eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomato and sausage all thrown together in a pan.

Seamus pulled open the cutlery drawer, but made no further move as he stared at its contents, confusion etched on his face.

"What in Merlin's…" he trailed off, causing his mates to peer over his shoulder.

Instead of the usual handful of knives, forks and spoons that generally sat in a small, neat tray with three indentations to hold the utensils, there was no tray, and hundreds of gleaming, silver sporks filling the drawer to its limit.

"Wonderful." Harry groaned, rubbing his neck. "So now we have a possibly illegally-gained Niffler, and England's entire collection of mutated, hybrid utensils."

"Sporks." Neville corrected.

Gathered as the group was, around the kitchen table once again, the fry-up smelling delectable and greasy and everything a post-hangover meal should be, Ron brought the conversation back to the hazy memories of the previous night.

"Seeing as none of us have much of an idea about last night, I think we may want to retrace our steps." He suggested, showing some of his rare initiative.

"Thank Merlin it's a Saturday, then." Seamus smirked as the others agreed with the red head.

Tiffany was sitting on the cleared work bench next to Dean (who had just explained that Romeo was actually a Niffler, not a dog), while the others congregated around the table.

"Can I come?"

"Sure." Harry acquiesced with a shrug. "We'll probably need your help scouring Muggle London."

The blonde nodded understandingly.

"Start at Snare the Devil?" She asked, sliding off the granite bench top, adjusting her borrowed clothes; one of Hermione's red tanks with the Gryffindor lion on the front and a dark denim mini.

"Can someone magic a leash for Romeo?" Tiffany added as an afterthought. "He can come too; get some exercise."

Dean flicked his wand, Accio-ing on of Ron's belts, and transfiguring it into a leash with a muzzle to go with it.

This done, the boys followed her down the hall to the door, and allowed her to lead the way back to the club, Romeo snuffling his way down the path, tangling the lead around the wizards' legs and causing them to trip over one another and Tiffany to giggle.

The walk wasn't too long, and they met very few people up and about on the now overcast morning. Those they did pass gave a smile or a greeting, assuming the Niffler to be a foreign dog breed, and the image on Tiffany's shirt to be a creature of fantasy.

The club itself was closed to patrons during the early hours, although there were a number of employees bustling about, preparing things for opening time. Harry decided to hit the hippogriff and just talk to the tall bald fellow he vaguely recognised as a barman from the night before.

He didn't have a chance to say anything, however, before the young man turned and spotted him, mouth breaking into a wide grin.

"Hey, Scarface!" The man greeted him, genially, clearly not meaning to offend as he raised an eyebrow laughingly. "You're looking remarkably awake this morning, considering how much you drank last night."

"Just lucky, I guess." Harry responded with a sly smile, close enough now to shake the fellow's hand. "I don't suppose you could help us with something?" He asked, gesturing behind him to the rest of his mates, plus Tiffany and Romeo. The girl waved.

"Sure. I'll try, anyway." The barman said, wiping his hands on his apron. "You'll have to talk while I work though."

He was moving glasses out of the dishwasher and into a large tray.

"Last night, did we say anything about where we were heading next?"

The barman smirked, understanding why they were all here at such a time of day when, really, they should be sleeping in and complaining about their undoubtedly horrendous headaches.

"Something about pigs… Hogs, sorry." He recalled, bringing his hand to his mouth. "Hogsfeet, Hogsmeet? It was all rather jumbled, considering how much you lot had had to drink."

Harry nodded, more vague memories popping up into his brain. Apparently, they'd decided to go to Hogsmeade. Lovely: smack bang in the middle of Wizarding England.

"Anything else; did we have the…dog?" Harry asked, hesitating on the animal's name.

The barman shook his head, amused.

"Not then."

"What about sporks?"

The barman's eyes lit up a little with vague recollection.

"Actually, you know what. There was another lady – older woman, with dark, curly hair. I think she might've been one of those rich and famous types. She joined you later on -mentioned something about sporks. You all left together."

"Ah." Harry murmured. "Got a name?"

"She called her husband Mr Wilkes, and said something about not wanting to live in a posh house in Kensington if there are going to be sluts tramping in and out of it. She pretty sloshed."

Harry grimaced, but put on a brave face.

"Thanks."

The barman held out his hand, and Harry shook it.

"Mickey." The bald man said by way of proper introduction.

"Thanks, Mickey. We'll being seeing you."

Harry joined the wizards, and Tiff, who yelled out her own farewell to Mickey the barman. He waved back in response.

"Well, we went to Hogsmeade. But we also picked up another woman; one who has a connection to sporks." Harry revealed to his drinking-buddies. "Looks like we're off to Kensington, kids."

Surprisingly, when they actually arrived in the area, several of them recognised the buildings. Although Seamus, being who he was, looked behind a bush and said: "Yep, we were definitely here. I remember that."

Unfortunately, 'that' referred to his throwing up, which stained the soil, but was well hidden by the rose bushes leaves – at least from the footpath.

"Oi." Tiff called out suddenly. "It's this one."

The house was enormous; white and imposing even compared to the monstrosities around it. At closer inspection, there was a golden plaque on the front gate that read 'Mr & Mrs N. Wilkes', allowing them solid evidence instead of a blind stab in the dark based on their hazy memories.

Being around eleven in the morning, Harry was hoping that Mr Wilkes worked weekends, and they therefore wouldn't have to deal with him. He was fairly certain that it would be a bad idea. He rang the bell, and a feminine voice answered.

"_State your name and business, please."_

"Harry Potter and friends, regarding the blank spaces from last night after leaving Snare the Devil club."

The woman let out a happy 'oh', and the gate slid open.

"_Come in, come in – I'll meet you at the door."_

He was rather shocked at how pleasant her response had been, but shrugging he lead the others up the clean path to the grandiose wooden doors, watching as they opened slowly to reveal a curvaceous lady around about her mid-forties.

Seeing her in her home brought the drunken memories to the forefront.

_The five boys, Tiff and Jennifer stumbled laughingly into a taxi, disregarding the fact that there weren't enough seats for everyone. The driver hadn't said anything, but, then, Harry wasn't entirely sure that Seamus hadn't Confunded the poor old man. Either way, they were getting to Jennifer's place. _

_(Her husband was having an affair with some tarty secretary of his, and she had told them she felt old because of it. The boys, and even Tiff, had denied this vehemently; she was a stunning woman, who was defying age. Tiffany had the bright idea, at this exact moment, that the solution, clearly, was to have a portrait done. _

_A nude portrait. One that showed just how gorgeous Jennifer Wilkes nee St Clair really was, regardless of her age.)_

_So the crew found themselves in the mansion opposite Kensington gardens, drinking what they could find, while Dean painted Jennifer, lying naked across the Louis the Fourteenth-era chaise-lounge. _

_After the initial painting was finished, admittedly at an unusually fast pace, somebody, presumably Tiff, found a camera; clothes were donned once more, and the serious posing began, with most of the boys lacking their shirts._

"Erm." Harry said, aware that his cheeks had turned a rather obnoxious pink as he recalled their shenanigans. He wasn't the only one, as Neville also looked distinctly uncomfortable.

He wasn't able to catch the expressions of anybody else, because just then, a loud, shocked sound erupted on the upstairs floor.

"Jennifer! What the bloody hell is the meaning of th-" A large, moustached man bearing more than a passing resemblance to Vernon Dursley (albeit much thinner) descended the stairs, pausing when he saw the company his wife held.

He, himself, held a digital camera.

The guilty camera.

The same camera that had pictures of the six of them, and his wife, posing obscenely and drunkenly the night before – in his bedroom, no less.

"Bollocks." Harry muttered under his breath, knowing that the others, notably Dean were thinking the same thing.

"YOU LOT! WHO THE BLOODY HE-"

Harry really needn't have worried, however, because, filled with confidence from the previous night, Jennifer turned on her husband with a vicious look in her eyes.

"How dare you!" She screeched. "How dare you even insinuate that we have done anything worth being antagonised about? Unlike you, dear husband, none of us have done anything out of the ordinary for a group of friends."

"Friends!" Wilkes roared back. "They aren't your friends. They're kids you picked up somewhere."

"At least I'm not having sex with them!"

Wilkes was turning a reddish purple in the face, seeming to be at loss; he had nothing to say to that. It was true. He was having an affair, and not doing very well, because his wife clearly knew about it, and was not happy. Not that she should be.

"Erm, Jennifer?" Dean tried to catch her attention, failing miserably as the argument reached new heights.

"These pictures are revolting! They're barely over age!" Wilkes was yelling, while Jennifer poked his chest viciously. She stormed upstairs, husband at her heels, and flung open the double doors to the bedroom.

The nude portrait was still there, and if Wilkes was a cartoon, steam would have been emitted from his ears.

"YOU'RE COMPLETELY NAKED!"

"IT'S TASTEFUL!"

Wilkes spluttered unintelligibly, trying to form some coherent sentences in his anger. He had to admit that his wife of twenty-three years looked damn fine in the painting, but that was beside the point.

His wife stuck her noise in the air, crossed her arms over her chest and smirked nastily.

"And I paid them in your precious silver sporks."

The older man froze.

Harry, Ron, Neville, Seamus, Dean and Tiffany chose this moment to evacuate the posh house, yelling a quick thank-you-and-goodbye to Jennifer, who told them to contact her any time, she'd love to see them again, whether at the club or to catch up for coffee.

The two wealthy muggles continued their yelling match while the six youths escaped.

"The _silver_ sporks! Why? How many did you give them, woman? You know they gain the best profit!"

The youths sprinted from the door, across the road and into the park, feeling ruffled around the edges, but safer the further they got from Mr Wilkes and his Uncle Vernon-resemblance. Enough distance between them, the group finally allowed themselves to laugh about the messy situation.

"Unknown woman and silver sporks down, one Niffler to go." Ron said, barking out a laugh. "Where to, Harry?"

"Destination Hogsmeade." Harry grinned, happy to have at least some of his memories returned, and borderline ecstatic to be free of the accusatory gaze of the apparent spork emperor.

Dean stepped close to Tiff, picked up the Niffler, and suggested that she should close her eyes and remain as still as possible. Wrapping his arms around her and Romeo, he Apparated them to Hogsmeade, followed shortly after by the others.

Neville was last to appear, and caught the final seconds of Tiff's staggering and subsequent glare at her one-night-stand-come-semi-boyfriend-figure.

"Apparition." Dean explained with a shrug, trying not to smile wickedly at the blonde woman's reaction.

"If that wasn't the coolest thing ever, I'd kick you in the gonads." She grumbled, dropping Romeo to the ground. The sooty coloured magical creature stumbled, regaining its own equilibrium slowly, making Seamus and Ron snicker. Both were silenced with a glare from Tiffany.

"I'm going to guess the Hogs Head." Neville theorised. "Considering the closing hours Rosmerta sticks by, it would've been the only place open."

So, with destination set, the group trudged up the path, towards the main street.

They didn't make it very far before Tiffany was captivated and distracted by everything and anything. The objects in the windows were eliciting the same responses of happiness as a child entering a sweetshop to find out that everything was free - except, in this case, the lack of money was the appearance of magic.

She disappeared through the door of the Weasley Twin's shop, drawn in by the bright colours and laughter.

Neville was the only one that noticed the tiny flicker of pain in Ron's eyes when the red-head glimpsed the shop she'd entered. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He was healing.

The five boys trailed in after her, fighting their way through the ever-present throng of students.

George appeared at Harry's shoulder, frightening the life out him as the twin's voice sounded right by the Saviour's left ear.

"Who's the bird you're all stalking?" He pointed to Tiff with one of the fake wands, causing it to change into a squawking chicken. "Pretty thing, she is."

"Careful, Weasley." Dean growled. George just grinned, raising his hands in mock defeat.

"Anyway, what are you doing here? A bit early for most of you, isn't it?" He said, looking pointedly at Ron as he stocked the shelf with more fake wands.

"We're retracing our steps." Harry volunteered, before launching into an explanation of the previous night. "The catch-up turned into a rather extensive piss-up. We've gained a muggle, a Niffler, and about a thousand silver sporks."

George looked torn between amusement and perplexity. Instead, he looked back at Tiffany.

"She's a muggle?"

"You seem shocked." Dean said dryly.

"Yeah, well. Didn't expect it's'all." George mumbled, pink in the cheeks and rubbing at his neck with a freckly hand.

"If she wants anything, it's on the house." The stockier Weasley said generously. "Only because she's your muggle friend - don't worry, Dean. I'm not after your woman." He smirked at the tall, dark boy.

"Whose woman?" Tiff interjected with a smile, having wandered back over to them.

"Nobody's." Dean answered, with his own smile. "This is George Weasley, one of Ron's brothers."

Extending a hand, Tiff was both pleased and embarrassed when George kissed her knuckles – to rile Dean up more than anything, she was aware of that because she noticed the playful challenge directed at Dean as he did so.

"Pleased to meet you…is this your business?" She asked curiously.

"I started it with my twin a few years ago, before the w-" He stopped at a vehement shake of Harry's head. "Erm. Yes. It is."

"Impressive." She said, looking around, and therefore not seeing the similar flash of suffering in George's eyes.

"Indeed." He whispered, before shaking himself, the usual smile returning to his features. "I've just let the boys know that if anything takes your fancy, you're welcome to it; it's on the house. Now, I've got to get back to my customers."

With a flourish, George was gone.

Tiffany showed remarkable restraint in choosing magical objects; in fact, the only things she'd taken were several vials from the special products for Witches, and a Skiving Snack-box. These were stowed away in an orange paper bag which was being carried by Dean, gentleman that he was, while the group walked towards the Hogs Head, Tiffany having to literally drag Romeo past the jewellers as he tried to enter the place and destroy it completely – at least, that's what Seamus warned her that the Niffler would do.

Outside the establishment, Harry paused. He hoped the Niffler wasn't illegal or stolen goods.

"Morning, Aberforth." Neville strode through the door to greet the aging barman – Dumbledore's younger brother.

"Neville."

The reply came from somewhere behind the bar, and while the rest took a seat in the booth, Neville and Harry went to talk to the old man.

"And Mr Potter, what can I do for you gents-" he paused, glancing at the others "-and your entourage?"

Harry looked away for a moment, embarrassed that he had to ask what he needed to;

"We're having a few issues trying to recollect last night…" he trailed off awkwardly, aware that Aberforth was trying not to guffaw. Wonderful; it seemed the things they couldn't remember had been rather memorable for everybody else.

"Well, lads, apart from the impromptu poetry recital and dance hour, the one you'd best talk to is currently passed out at that booth there." He pointed to the furthest corner, where a black cloaked figure lay sprawled over the table, an empty glass held limply in one hand.

Harry made his way over to the black swathed figure, Neville at his back and the others watching warily from the opposite side of the room.

"Excuse me."

He prodded the figure once on the shoulder, and they flew into action, the hood sliding back slightly, giving Harry enough time to realise just who the cloaked figure was.

"Narc-"

Her hand whipped around to cover his mouth as she wrenched herself off the table.

"Don't advertise it!" She hissed; the slur still evident in her speech.

"What are you doing here?" He whispered back. "Were we with you last night?"

She scrunched her nose while she thought about the question.

"Perhaps."

It was astounding the way she could carry aloofness and casual disgust despite being rip-roaring drunk. Pityingly, Harry pulled out a spare vial of the Sober-Up and handed it to her. She took it gratefully, even uttering a thank you.

"Can you tell us what you remember?"

Narcissa Malfoy nodded, and smirked.

"Besides the dancing, you mean?"

Harry barely held in a groan.

"Dancing?"

"Oh, yes." Narcissa smirked wickedly. "What fun we all had last night. I do believe muggle dancing is a great deal more enjoyable than waltzing."

Harry felt suddenly self-conscious, thought he couldn't quite remember why. Narcissa's expression rather resembled the cat that got the cream.

"Moving beyond the dancing…does a Niffler mean anything to you?"

The aristocratic blonde woman shuddered visibly.

"So it was you I managed to unload that dreadful animal onto. I couldn't quite remember – too many other nicer things to recall." Her gaze flicked over to Tiffany and Romeo, a hint of a smirk still on her face. "Well, you have to keep it, anyhow. We made a bet and you lost."

"I lost?"

"Well, the Weasley boy did. And I do believe it was your dark friend who initiated the bet; all for that stunning blonde." Narcissa looked Tiffany up and down. "Shame she's a muggle. She pales even Astoria, my _darling_ daughter-in-law."

Apparently there was bad blood between the two Malfoy women. Harry let her continue.

"That awful girl has had Draco wrapped around her little finger ever since my stupid ex-husband was condemned to St Mungo's… and it was _she_ who dumped that wretched animal on me – in my rooms, no less." She sniffed, and Harry understood her dislike of the animal, and that of her son's wife. Both seemed to be fair enough. "It destroyed everything."

"What was the bet?" Neville interjected his poor attempt at a segue.

Narcissa looked at him, seeing him standing there for the first time.

"Oh, it's you, Longbottom." She sent him a rather unsettling smile (neither of the boys had seen her give a true smile before). "How are you this morning?"

"Fine, thank you, Mrs Malfoy."

She looked pleased to hear that.

"You dance very well." She added before looking back to Harry and continuing as if nothing had happened (ignoring Neville's pink cheeks).

"The bet…" she started, "was entirely clean of any dirty cheating tricks."

She waggled a finger over towards the others.

"Mr Thomas, is it?"

Harry nodded, seeing her finger pointed roughly at Dean. It was actually sitting on Tiffany, but Harry didn't care to mention that.

"Mr Thomas' lovely friend took a fancy to that silly animal, I noticed. He didn't seem quite so fond, so I made the suggestion of a bet. I told him it was a gift, so I couldn't just give it away. He took the bait, assuming, naturally, that Mr Weasley would easily beat me in a game of Wizard's Chess. I bet him that if Weasley won, the animal would remain with me, and if not, his blonde girlfriend would henceforth own it."

"So it's not illegal, then?" Harry double-checked - feeling that this, at the very least, was a beneficial outcome.

"Of course not."

Harry was about to consent to this all being the straight facts, before he recalled that Ronald Weasley was the leading Chess player in England.

"Hang on! You _beat_ Ron?" He said, incredulous.

"People are always surprised that I can play that silly game." Narcissa mused. "I'm a wealthy housewitch; a trophy wife. I need something to do during the day." She added in a bored tone, although Neville was sure he detected amusement laced through it.

"Is that all?" Narcissa broke the somewhat stunned silence.

Harry nodded, and the two boys made to leave for their friends.

"Mr Longbottom, would you mind sitting with me for a moment? I have some things I'd like to discuss with you."

Neville swallowed thickly, wondering what she could possibly need him for, as Harry shrugged (the movement barely noticeable) and abandoned him to get drinks for their group – and to explain how they came to possess the Romeo the Niffler.

"It's about Herbology…" Narcissa expanded, re-adjusting her hood.

Neville sighed inwardly. Herbology; he was good at that. He knew about Herbology - and considering the day so far, he was almost delirious to know – actually _know_ – anything.

She ordered them both a glass of pineapple juice and declared to Neville that she was bored, and needed some more danger in her life. Something she could disguise as an ordinary bit of flora, but wouldn't mind having a nice chomp on the leg of a certain blonde bimbo who was ruining her son's life.

Neville tried not to show the faint amusement in his facial expression, but Narcissa was an Ice Queen of Slytherin, and she knew how to read faces.

"Don't laugh at me! I'm deadly serious."

Neville broke into a real smile at that point, and shook his head disbelievingly before catching Harry's own amused green eye. The Boy Saviour winked and turned back to Ron.

"I don't suppose you'd care to join us over there, Madam?" He offered politely, tilting his head towards the others.

Narcissa Malfoy considered his proposal, glanced at the Niffler, before finally pursing her lips and nodding acquiescence.

"I think I might actually quite like that stupid animal when it's somebody else's pet." She said casually as she gracefully got to her feet.

**Well. That was extensive, random and I'm not even sure about the result. Meh. If you enjoyed it, please comment as such. If not, then it's not necessary.**

**I'd prefer if you liked it.**


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